


Put Cotton to Flame

by plastics



Category: Original Work
Genre: Addiction, Chronic Pain, Dubious Consent, Explicit Drug Use, Homophobia, M/M, Power Imbalance, transactional sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-14
Updated: 2019-12-14
Packaged: 2021-02-13 04:03:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21488023
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/plastics/pseuds/plastics
Summary: RAPIDS SURGE INTO A NEW CHAMPIONSHIP ERABy: Beau DupontFor the first time in 15 years, River Valley claimed the state championship 46-13 over rival Mount Clover, led by its young superstar QB Jonathan LaRue Jr. and a iron-curtain defense. Once a state powerhouse, the team fallen onto rough times following…DYNASTY, B2
Relationships: Drug Dealer/Drug Addict, Original Male Character/Original Male Character
Comments: 8
Kudos: 23
Collections: Consent Issues Exchange 2019





	Put Cotton to Flame

**Author's Note:**

  * For [StrawberrySmog](https://archiveofourown.org/users/StrawberrySmog/gifts).

> Title from "Like New" by Deerhunter. Partially inspired by "The Fall of the High School Running Back" by The Mountain Goats except there's no high school running back nor acid nor Texas. Please mind the tags.

The final Friday of the Region A, Class II season was frigid. Parents of some of the River Valley kids, the ones that just north of town, had brought space heaters to set up along their sideline, and, because they were winning, mercilessly, Beau let himself stand with the warmth at his back as JJ LaRue didn’t even try to hide winding his skinny arm back to fire off something like a 37-yard pass into the endzone into the arms of Dom Altadonna, who landed firmly on one foot then stumbling off the extra torque until his teammates close ranks around him. 

The pass was overthrown. A whole game of this and Altadonna had still been alone, somehow, the offensive line was holding, and a nervous twitch still sent JJ's throw a foot higher than his target.

Further down the field, the paper’s newest intern is on one knee, writing frantically with one hand, phone in the other. A proactive type. Probably could have sent her out on her own. The clock was winding down. No one paid much attention and Mount Clover reclaimed the ball for its final drive. The intern — Elizabeth, with the same sort of sturdy demeanor that demanded a full name — circled back, everything tucked away with her fists bulging at the seams of her jacket pockets.

“So that’s it?” she asked. “Thirty-one in 2,598 yards?”

“Is that what you wrote down?”

“Yes?”

“Then that’s what it is.” She made a face, her head bobbing both a denial and a nod. It took some time getting used to being the record, but coaches lie. Parents lie.

The clock hit zero. The team stormed the field, like the regional title wasn’t theirs the second they all stepped off the bus. Beau felt his own body fight inertia like the sharp cracking of ice down his back. He felt stiff all over. Standing still too long didn’t agree with him and neither did the cold.

I’m dying, Beau thought to himself. I’m fucking dying. I’m too young for this shit.

Kendall Greene slid next to him, throwing an arm around his shoulder and fitting their palms together, fingers crushing. His breath is hot next to Beau’s face. “They fucking did it! Jesus Christ, can you believe it? Best thing since— hell, maybe even _ better _than—”

“Not when I’m at work, buddy,” Beau said as he disentangled himself. He nodded towards Elizabeth. “She’s going to want to talk to the kids, I’ll take Tommy.”

“Yeah, yeah, of course. And, you know, thank you for the coverage you’ve brought back to this team. It was a damn shame, that fair-weather paper of yours really cast us aside—”

Beau nodded a thank you. The fact of the matter was, the same vacuum that sucked the glory out of the River Valley Rapids and every other inch of the town had hit the Independent-Times, too, of course, the staff collapsing fully onto itself, barely holding onto its sports editor until he had to leave, too, and that the fact the paper could spare him fifty bucks every other weekend now was something of a miracle.

Not many people made Beau feel small, but Evers clan came close. Tommy was the biggest one yet, as talented as his four older brothers combined, but he didn’t act like it. His ice blue eyes shined as they stared over Beau’s shoulder, the corner of his mouth bitten in as he mumbled about what this team meant to him. Next year, he’ll be playing in somewhere in Michigan. It’s not the best school he got offers from, but it was probably as far west as an Evers had ever been. 

Beau hoped it worked out for him. He really did.

— — ` • ` — — 

They wrote the articles at McDonald’s. Most of the time, Beau just loitered in the parking lot, engine running, but that night he bought a large fries and two apple pies for the right to use their wifi. He let Elizabeth take claim most of it. The grease made his head throb, his stomach clench. He didn’t allow himself to shift in the hard plastic seats.

Elizabeth still noticed, eyes sharp. “Are you alright?”

Coach had said the same thing, dropping a heavy hand on Beau’s shoulder and laughing as he said, “You look like shit, son.”

Beau said the same thing then: “Nothing contagious, I promise.”

Most of his article had been written for weeks, scraps picked up here and there. Between the two of them and photos, they were to eat up most of three pages. This was to be the team’s crowning moment; regionals was theirs from the jump. 

States will destroy them.

They fell silent. Both of them had headphones on. _ I, you know, those are my brothers and, you know, doing what we did and all I do is for them, so I and the rest of the team can keep coming out here and fighting another day and it’s just everything to keep winning. _These are my brothers, Evers said, who added another three sacks Friday to his record-breaking career total … All I do is for them, so we can keep coming out here and fighting. Winning tonight means everything.

It’d only been a year, but JJ was already used to interviews. _ Dom is one of my best buddies, _ he’d said. _ I wouldn’t be where I am today without him and all my receivers. I’m so grateful for the faith this team has put in me, and also for God blessing me with this opportunity. _

Usually, the adrenaline carried him through the writing process. That night, every word was like pulling teeth from a mouth that wanted to stay rotten. Beau sent it in at 10:58 with a small, silent apology to whoever was working the copy desk. He’d by them a drink, next time they were all out.

“Do you need a ride home?” he asked Elizabeth.

She hesitated. You could reach most of the town by foot or by bike, but it was cold, and River Valley had positioned it as far as it could from campus. “I’d appreciate if you could drop me at West Gates, if you don’t mind…?”

The ride over was quiet. His radio was set to some fuzzy country station, and whoever had owned his car before him had been a smoker, the acrid scent of tobacco seeping out some deep crack whenever he turned up the heat. If either of these bothered Elizabeth, she kept it to herself.

Closer to campus, the streets were slinking back awake, deep notes of loud music thrumming nearby, packs of kids wandering out of the underclass squad. Their semester was over, Beau remembered, or at least the important parts. His knuckles tightened subconsciously on his steering wheel. Beau knew he wasn’t really old enough for college students to feel like an alien species to him, to worry about the dumb shit that they’re going to pull tonight—that making mistakes is practically their right. It’s why he went into early education. How much easier it was to tell six-year-olds the differences right or wrong, left or right.

The seatbelt’s buckle rattled as it retracted. “Thanks for the ride, Uncle Beau. And for everything else. This semester has been really…”

Beau waved her off. “You’ve earned it. And now you’re just going back to your room to study, right?”

“Of course,” she replied, and then she hoisted herself out of the car, satchel twisted in her hand, and slammed the door behind her. A fizzle of annoyance bubbled up then dissipated just as quickly. Beau rubbed at his eyes. He was fucking tired. His head hurt, along with the radiating ache of his back that had a way of wrapping up his chest, stiffening him down to his knees. Sweat was gathering at his hairline, his upper lip, even as his skin prickled and he felt himself shiver out the sort of chill that meant fever. He should’ve gone home. Slept it off. Lay in bed, pretending to think sleep would come, gotten up, repeated until the weekend was over.

But the fact of the matter was, he’d sent the first texts before the game had even started. Followed up during halftime. Been mentally running through the list of everyone else he knew since they pulled out of the McDonald’s parking lot.

— — `•` — — 

Last month, Beau had helped Ava Montgomery turn her backpack inside out before through the entire classroom, lunchroom, playground, then let her cry at her desk as he made the call, “Hi, Jess? I apologize for interrupting you at work, but Ava missed the bus and seems to have misplaced her emergency phone.”

To which Jessica Montgomery said, “Are you fucking shitting me?” but then, “Christ, sorry, Beau. Thank you for calling. Someone will be there shortly to pick her up.”

A woman who introduced herself as Michael Montgomery’s PA showed up soon after, and while Ava was still sniffling, she seemed familiar enough that Beau let them go.

Ava’s emergency phone was a recent-model iPhone. Not new, but new enough. Undamaged. Probably repurposed it after upgrading. The phone unlocked with Jessica’s birthday. Beau had been at the Montgomery wedding, and that got him through the Apple password. It only took a handful of minutes for the phone to reset. Then Beau drove over to some knockoff Genius Bar on campus, owned by a guy he knew. Made some small talk, something about not needing his brother’s old phone anymore, privacy concerns about reselling.

Beau walked out with $150 in his pocket and a ball of fire in his stomach.

Just the once, he told himself. Never again.

— — `•` — — 

It wasn’t a long drive to the apartment, deep in College Town. Beau drove with his foot on the break. It wasn’t that late yet, but drunk kids weaved down the sidewalk and between cars. The first parking spot he found had a girl slumped against the bumper of one of the cars, bare knees to the ground, hair twisting up in a friend’s one hand as the other rubbed her back. Another girl watched close as Beau kept driving.

The house looked the same as any other one on the block. It made it hard to verify the directions Beau was given. He double checked the house number twice before going up the backstairs. He stood at the door for longer. His face burned even as the cold pit at it.

The door swung open.

“You’re a fucking creep, Dupont, anyone ever tell you that? Or are you just trying to get shot?” The lighting was dim and the screen still stood between them, but Beau could still tell that Courtney looked like shit. His skin was rough and patchy, cheeks sunken, and while his eyes were always dark, oil-slick, they seemed dull now, drained like the dark circles around them.

“Uh, hey,” Beau said. “Nice seeing you, too. Can I come in?”

“Why would I let you in?”

Beau didn’t answer. Courtney eyed him, analyzing, and Beau felt the ignition when Courtney clued in. Fuck, if that that smile wasn’t still familiar after all these years. If it didn’t fill him with apprehension. 

Courtney stepped back from the doorway. Beau still had to let himself in.

When they’d known each other, Courtney always seemed so fluid, swelling to fill every room that he was in. The apartment was neater than Beau would have guessed, even as the moved past the kitchen and into the living room. Almost unlived in. Not that Beau could think of any one thing that that would convince Beau that Courtney actually lived here and wasn’t just squatting or couchsurfing. Not that any of that was Beau’s business. Courtney’s been in town long enough — had never left, as far as Beau knew — that whatever he had going on was working for him. 

“Been reading your coverage,” Courtney said. “A fucking freshman QB under the old man? Can’t believe I lived to see the day.”

Beau shrugged. “It’s his kid.”

He didn’t need to explain that JJ was already sixteen, a summer baby held back from starting school who then repeated fifth grade, that he’d been trained since the day he was evicted from his mother’s womb to take over Rapids football — they’d both been there to witness that from the very beginning, back when JJ’d been on the sideline, too little to even be a ball boy but there, constantly, soaking in every play. That he may even be something special. What mattered was that Coach LaRue’s kid was always going to be the star.

Courtney kept talking. Beau got it. Guys didn’t always want people coming and going too quick, but _ guys _ being _ Courtney, _ and the knowledge of what Beau was going to ask for drew Beau taut. He knew Courtney could tell, too, that he was fingering the edge.

“What’s wrong, Beau?” he asked, eventually. “Don’t want to talk football? Toss the verbal pigskin with an old friend?”

Beau shrugged. “I think you know.”

“Maybe I don’t, Beau. Maybe I want you to tell me what I can give you.” His voice was filthy, dripping with sleaze. He was leaning with his back against the couch, legs spread obscenely, his face, his eyes, still screaming _ I dare you. _

Beau stared straight into those dark pools and said, “Oxys.” 

Courtney arched a thin, pale eyebrow. Something like shame rolled in Beau’s stomach, but he knew it was an act. Surprise didn’t exist in this industry, and Courtney knew damn well— Courtney knew. However long it’s been, he knew.

He said, “You’ve picked a bad time, buddy. It’s peak party season. The demand is way up and my supply is way down.”

“How much?”

“Fifty per.”

“For _ 10?” _

“Out of 10. Thirty. And don’t give me that pissy look, you wouldn’t be in my fucking house if you didn’t know this town is dry as fuck right now.”

“I don’t have that kind of money right now.”

“Well, then, what the fuck are you doing here? This isn’t a fucking bank, I don’t do loans. Or charity.”

Courtney was right, about all of it. And Beau knew he didn’t have the money even before he heard the price, but it still gave him a sick lurch of dread. It’d be better once the college kids left town again, he told himself. Even if it was just for the month. He’d stock up enough to wean himself back off once they came back. It’ll be easier to deal with the withdrawal once it’s not so shitty outside. Maybe draw it out until next summer break, really give himself some space.

“I’ll suck your dick for it,” Beau said.

Courtney laughed once, a loud squawk of surprise. Beau’s not sure he’d ever surprised Courtney before. It was a satisfying accomplishment; his posture folded in, his face snapping to something more genuine as a hand reflexively reached up to ruffle short, flaxen hair. In high school, it’d been been down past his shoulders, worse than some of the grungers in the sense that it had been _ pretty, _a middle finger to a father who had listened to A Boy Named Sue one too many times. In that moment, he was almost like a person instead of a masquerading fox. 

He said, “Holy shit, you actually think you’re serious.”

“I am serious.” And when Courtney looked like he was about to brush Beau off again, he continued, “When, in my entire life, have I not been serious?”

It silenced Courtney for a long stretch. Almost satisfying enough to make this worth it, but the mask was slipping back on by the time Courtney said, “What makes you think I’d want head from _ you?” _

Beau, admittedly, had hoped this conversation would be a simple yes or no. He thought of the question, sure, and it made him think of the strip clubs he used to go to and the women who would come up to him. Beautiful women, wearing next to nothing, complimenting his biceps or his jawline, telling him that they wanted to spend more time with him, would he like a lapdance, maybe in the back room? And Beau always looked back at them, like, was he supposed to believe this? Was the fantasy of being wanted supposed to be that easy to slip into? Was he not supposed to care?

He shrugged the girls onto his teammates and threw his tips in during pole routines. He wasn’t the only one who didn’t get into one-on-one shit, but enough did that he figured that, at least for some people, the answers were all yeses.

Courtney, Beau remembered, liked to fuck with people. Always had. Beau thought — didn’t want to think that he hoped — that would be enough of a motivation for him, if a low-effort orgasmn wasn’t sufficient enough motivation. Maybe that made him arrogant.

Beau shrugged. “Town isn’t that big. Wasn’t sure how often you got the chance to go out.”

And that might have been enough another misstep, because he could see Courtney stiffen, his face twitch. “I ‘go out’ plenty. I’m not fucking desperate.”

“I didn’t say that you are. I just thought—”

“You know what I think, Dupes?” Courtney interrupted, voice rising. “I think _ you _ want to suck _ my _dick, and the drugs are just a convenient fucking method to blame me for it, and then you can go home and knock the truth right out of your own pretty little head.”

Beau’s skin prickled. Bad enough he walked into another man’s house, knowing he was willing to subject himself to this, but to have to turned around on him… nausea rolled his stomach. His fingers twitched.

He clenched his jaw, hard. Thought back to those women. That’s what they were doing, right? Selling a fantasy. Didn’t mean anything about himself. He could feel Courtney’s eyes on him as he let his chin dip into a nod.

“Well, if that’s the case,” Courtney said, his voice deep and low once again, “then you better get on your knees.”

Beau did. It was strange how different the world looked two feet shorter, like looking through a wide-eyed kaleidoscope. The hardwood pressing against his knees grounded him. A cold draft made him shiver, not the feeling of Courtney’s skinny fingers threading through his hair.

Beau lost his virginity in the summer before high school, but in his life, he hadn’t gone down on too many people. Maybe the girls were too shy, maybe he was too much of an asshole. He hadn’t loved the experience, but none of it felt like that big a deal, either. 

Kneeling in front of a man was different: the hair, the musk, the taste when, after Beau hesitated at the sight of soft dick being pulled free from sweatpants and boxers, Courtney said, “Don’t just stare, show it some love.”

The first lick tasted like skin, clean enough. The head tasted of salt. A deep part of them throbbed with shame knowing that he knew the feel of a cock in his mouth. Maybe it would be easier if Courtney really forced him, took away that degree of choice between sucking at the head or trying to fit more of it into his mouth. He gagged every time he tried to push a little bit farther, get this done faster. Beau wished that there was some sort of background noise, music, TV, but instead all heard were wet noises and not-too-distant drunken yells. The hand at the crown of his head didn’t push, just combed his hair back from his face. 

“You know,” Courtney started, casual, the hand dipping to thumb at where Beau’s lips were wrapped about his dick, “you’re kind of a pathetic cocksucker.”

It felt like a kick to the gut, a hornet’s nest breaking open and stinging him from the inside. He jerked back, rubbing an agitated hand over his mouth to break the trail of spit and snapping, “What the fuck, Court? You’re the one who—”

“No, Beau, _ you _ came to me. _ You _ begged me to get my dick out because _ you _ wanted it. You can get up right now and fuck off, for all I care. That’d be better for me, actually. Give me a chance to find a better lay _ and _still make a profit off the shit you’re trying to lift off me,” Courtney said. Beau heard the truth in it. Felt like an idiot for thinking he could just do this and that it would all work out fine. None of this was fine. What the fuck was Beau’s life?

Beau swallowed hard. He could still taste Courtney in his mouth. His head throbbed with stuffed-up pressure. The thought of leaving that apartment without what he needed sent waves of vibrating anxiety to the tips of his fingers. He said, “I’m in a real bad place, man. What do you want from me?”

“Money.” And then Courtney said, “Let me fuck you.”

“Fine.” Beau didn’t even think. He couldn’t afford it.

“Are you being serious right now?”

“You offered.”

Courtney fisted the neck of Beau’s fleece, pulled him up until they were eye-to-eye, and Beau stared back as Courtney leaned in. His lips were chapped, and Beau could feel the scratch of five o’clock shadow. Courtney’s tongue pressing into his mouth felt wrong, but in some distant way, it was familiar, too—wasn’t this what Courtney did? Pressed and pressed until he got some sort of reaction, proved himself to be the one who’s one step ahead?

Beau kissed back, if you could call it that. More like a dare.

He still jolted when he felt hands at the waist of his pants, felt Courtney laugh at him as those hands gripped the undercurve of his ass. Even knowing Courtney was messing with him, it put his nerves on edge. This was _ wrong, _ unnatural, and he was doing it to himself for some fucking pills he told himself he was done with. Loathing bubbled up in this throat, towards himself, Courtney, every little thing that brought him to this moment.

Still, none of it distracted Beau from Courtney pulling him up onto the couch, tugging his pants down around his knees, rearranging him onto his back. He felt exposed, humiliated, even before he heard then felt Courtney spit directly onto his asshole, catch the trail of it with his finger before starting to ease it into Beau.

“Jesus Christ,” Beau wheezed, feeling guilty for it for the first time in a long while. He could feel every ridge of Courtney’s finger as he reflexively fluttered around it.

“Tapping out?”

“No,” Beau denied.

“Then you better relax, because this isn’t going to get any easier.”

Beau knew Courtney was right, but he didn’t get how relaxing was possible with another man between his legs, and with that man being Courtney fucking St. Cyr. Even realizing that Courtney was the type to just keep lube around did nothing to calm his nerves.

“Beau—”

“Just fucking do it.”

Beau knew, in some part of his brain, that rushing was probably even worse than doing it in the first place. Even Courtney’s fingers felt—overwhelming Intrusive. He just wanted it to be _ done. _

But Courtney wasn’t any less the type to step up to a challenge than Beau was. He could see it in the set of Courtney’s face. Beau hadn’t noticed Courtney bring out the condom, but he was grateful for it for the small window between him putting it on and the feeling of cool latex over hard flesh pressed against his hole. Courtney’s dick hadn’t seemed notably big until that moment where Beau realized he had to take it inside himself, until he felt the sharp stretch of blunt pressure.

Beau felt a distressed noise escape his throat as he tried to squirm away, but Courtney’s hands were firm on his thighs. “That’s barely even the head, buddy.”

“Fuck off,” Beau replied, meaning _ do it already, _ but it did his head in, knowing that the small thrusts Courtney used to edge his way into Beau meant he was fucking Beau, barely fucking Beau and it was already driving every other thought out of his head, other than his need, why he was doing this to himself.

They went slow. Too slow. Beau was sweating in his clothes but refused to strip any of them off. The position was bad, Courtney holding his knees up towards his chest. He could feel a tingling in his lower back that sent a shock of dread through Beau quicker than anything. His breath came harsh and short, sense memories so strong they were practically real again. 

Courtney’s hips slowed then froze on an outward thrust, fingers digging into Beau’s trembling thighs. “… Are you crying?”

“My back hurts,” Beau snapped, because it was true and Courtney shouldn’t get to live in a world where that wasn’t true.

“I thought it was your hip.”

Beau shrugged. His hip had been put back together. Back when he was at school and had an athletic trainer and regular physical therapy, they’d talked to him a lot about consistency, maintenance, referred and radiating pain, the body as a system. Then he graduated, moved back home, got a shit job and learned about the realities of this world, which included waking and falling asleep to the same strange pains.

The room fell silent again. Beau hated it. Half a night with Courtney and Beau hated everything again, felt repressed resentment and rage bubbling to the surface. He saw the regret on Courtney’s face as he kneed down onto the floor and _ that _felt good, even as Courtney drew Beau’s hips to the edge of the couch.

It was less of a strain, and, somehow, Beau felt the ease when Courtney slid his dick back into him. If it felt better for him, his face didn’t show it. _ Good, _ Beau thought, _ fuck him. _

Courtney still came with stuttering hips and a cut-off groan. 

Beau’s own dick felt disconnected from himself, but it was hard, somehow, and Courtney glances between it and his face a few times before leaning down and taking it into his mouth and sucking hard, skillful, proof tonight wasn’t his first time. It was an apology, Beau thought, but the orgasm still didn’t feel like his own.

Courtney sat back again. Tucked away his dick. Stared out his living room window. Flashing red and blue reflected against the window sill, but there weren’t any sirens. Breaking up a party, probably, or dealing with the sort of emergency that needed to be kept off any records to maintain the reputation of the town’s main legal source of income.

Beau winced as he tried to pull his clothes back into place. Courtney stood and disappeared down the hallway branching out from the living room.

When he returned, he said, “I have something for the pain, if you want it. Cheaper than oxy.”

Beau nodded. 

Courtney loaded it up: a pin’s head dissolved in water and acid, the same sort of spoon Beau had back at his place, the same plain Bic lighter, filtered into a fresh needle. There was a shoelace tied above his elbow. Courtney swapped the crook with rubbing alcohol. Dug the edge of a finger in once, twice. Told Beau, “Don’t look,” but he did, watched as the needle dug in, then as his own blood flooded into the muddy barrel before Courtney depressed the plunger.

The vein barely bled at the withdrawal.

Beau said, “I don’t think—”

And then the bubble burst within him, comfort and safety and joy and peace and everything good in the world flooding his brain. He could hardly move. He didn’t _ want _to. Like being submerged into nothingness.

He wasn’t sure how much time passed. Courtney was still beside him. The TV had been turned on at some point.

“Do you remember that first time? The first time you kissed me?” Beau laughed, almost, didn’t wait for the response or didn’t hear it. It was hard to make his mouth move. “I never got you, if you were just fucking with me, but, Christ, you really are a faggot.”

— — ` • ` — — 

Some time later, Beau found himself puking into the kitchen sink, all the nothing he’d eaten that day coming back up. He made it back to the couch in the dark. He was alone. Outside the window, street lights reflected off of fresh-falling snow. None of this mattered. He was so warm.

— — ` • ` — — 

Beau woke up to hell and someone slamming cabinet drawers.

_ Stupid, _ Beau thought to himself. _ Stupid stupid stupid goddamn motherfucker. _

Slowly, he eased himself upright. The sun was high, but he felt as if he hadn’t slept in days. Sick as a dog. God, why did he bother, why the fuck did he bother.

Another pointed bang from the kitchen. Not really Courtney’s style.

Beau’d slept in his clothes. His phone was in his pocket — no pressing messages except for an asspat from his editor — and so were his keys. He rocked onto his feet.

He didn’t know the woman in the kitchen, didn’t even really recognize her, couldn’t tell if she was another student or closer to his and Courtney’s age. Beau tried to straighten his spine and look like someone people entrusted their children and the truth with as he started, “Uh, hi, I’m—”

“One of Courtney’s friends, sure,” she sneered, voice like ice. “I don’t know why he let you sleep here, but you need to leave.”

And Beau wanted to defend himself, but what was there to say? That he was different? Like last night and the things he’d done before that hadn’t happened, like some screaming part of that wanted to find Courtney again, demand the last of his stash, cure that scratching sickness that lived in his head.

He swallowed it. Left out the front door, didn’t linger long enough to hear her lock it behind him. Sat in his car, waiting for hot air. The neighborhood looked so normal in the daylight. Peaceful. His phone buzzed. Someone from last night. Beau put his car in reverse.

— — ` • ` — — 


End file.
